Monomania
by RobinRocks
Summary: SuzakuxLelouch. It's a strange old house, but stranger still are the things which happen within its walls. Not that Suzaku Kururugi would ever allow himself to become obsessed with anything. Poe-inspired Victorian AU for Halloween.


Okay, well, to be perfectly concise so as not to bore my regular readers who have heard it _allllllllll_ before (and those newbies who may have simply stumbled across this particular fic but really couldn't give a flying fig about what else I have written)...

I _love_ Halloween. Like, seriously. And so I've made it something of a tradition of mine to ALWAYS write something kind of creepy and Halloween-themed to mark the occasion here on FFNet. This is my fifth Halloween on the site, and with two_ Teen_ _Titans_ and two _Death Note_ "Halloween Specials" under my belt, I decided to this year bestow the, uh, _honour_ upon the _Code Geass _section_. _:D

Something else I love (and something else a lot of my regular readers probably know/are sick to death of hearing): Edgar Allan Poe. Mentions of he and his works frequently pop up in my writings – he was most recently spotted on the RobinRocks Writer Radar being name-dropped in _Detective Fiction_. Interestingly, I spent last Saturday seeing a one-man show called simply _Poe_, the entire script being comprised solely of Poe's writings. It was awesome.

Gah, I said I'd make it concise. So, here:

This. _Code Geass_ Victorian period AU Halloween fic. With Poe. Much Poe.

A grand total of six of Poe's short stories and poems are alluded to in this (whole) fic. You don't need to have read any of them to appreciate the fic, since there is SuzaLulu goodness to make up for it, but if you happen to be familiar with the Original Emo Kid, see how many you can spot. ;)

One confession before we begin: This was meant to be a oneshot. Instead it is a two-parter because I was just so busy during the run-up to Halloween with this, that and the other that I couldn't get it finished. Believe me, it wasn't for lack of trying. It really wasn't. On Wednesday night I stayed up ALL NIGHT (no exaggeration) slaving over this trying to get it done, but at 7:30am on Thursday, when I could barely keep my eyes open, I was forced to admit defeat. :[ I am pushed for time because at this exact moment (if you are reading this on Halloween) I am nowhere near the internets, but instead at YaoiCon. O.o

So my good pal **AutumnDynasty** kindly agreed (after begging, threatening, etc), to post this and the latest chapter of _The Ghost in the Machine_ for me.

So. Yes. I think this is the first time I have had to make a strategic retreat... or whatever. O.o

Oh, and Happy Halloween.

Monomania: I 

It really was the kind of house that you needed to have an excuse to visit.

It wasn't that it was falling down, exactly; it was a more subtle sense of disrepair that pervaded it, from the stained, peeling wallpaper to the blackened cracks that scampered rather blatantly across the ceilings. The house was clean (because there were servants who did their jobs), but the things in it were old and faded. The curtains were limp, the windows were dull, the tables were unsteady and the sofas were patchy and balding.

It had once been grand; that much was obvious. A faintly regal air still hung about it, low like a mist in each of the empty, sorry, high-ceilinged rooms. Royalty had once walked these halls—

But, still, you wouldn't come here without a reason; or an invitation, at least.

Suzaku Kururugi had a reason (or an invitation, at least). The Ashfords, the rich and prestigious family to whom his father had some sort of tie or other, were in the way (if not _business_, exactly) of restoration – and, having acquired this mansion, bequeathed to their bloodline by some deranged third cousin twice removed, or whatever the story was, had immediately upped sticks from their own (_non_-run-down) mansion and temporarily moved in here to oversee the restoration process.

They hadn't been at it long, and they had their work cut out for them. Currently both the basement and the fourth floor were out of bounds due to something-or-other that involved several dozen workmen in identical once-white shirts.

What did all this have to do with Suzaku, only son of the equally rich and prestigious Kururugi family (with their own shrine and all)?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

_Except_ for the fact that Milly Ashford (the daughter, and a girl he had met only once before) had been clearing out one of the many small library rooms sometime last week when she had reached behind one of the bookshelves and pulled out a wedge of a manuscript, sheets and sheets of crumpled, yellowed paper.

The writing was in Japanese.

It was in a pretty bad state, and the Ashfords wanted to know if it was worth restoring, an evaluation which would have been much easier to come to a conclusion upon on their own if only it wasn't in Japanese.

So, _technically_ speaking, Suzaku was actually being _borrowed_ by the Ashfords as opposed to being their guest. They were, however, very nice and very hospitable. He had taken one look at the manuscript that Milly had found and announced that it was in an old form of kanji, practically Chinese, and that although he _would_ be able to translate it, it would take him a while.

So, naturally, they'd offered to put him up for as long as it would take.

Which was why he found himself alone in this huge, high-ceilinged, decrepit bedroom on the third floor. They'd done their best to make it as comfortable as possible for him; since they were living here themselves, they had obviously brought some of their own things from home, which they were only too happy to share with him. It wasn't as though they had expected him to sleep under sheets eaten practically into lace by moths or read by a lamp that he couldn't even open because the shutter was crusted over with rust.

The manuscript was piled neatly on his desk, tied together with a piece of string. Next to it were his own notes, translating (with a little difficulty) what he could into modern Japanese. At present, however, he was nowhere near them; instead sitting on the wide windowsill, one of the bedraggled curtains trailing over his shoulder as he looked out through the grime on the window at the garden. It was ugly; dense and wildly-overgrown. He didn't envy whoever had to go out there with their shears and scythe, and he wasn't exactly the kind of person who shied away from strenuous physical activity.

(However, 'strenuous physical activity', in _his_ book, did not include masquerade balls.)

* * *

To be fair, it wasn't as if the house had a huge crack down the middle of it or anything, but it still didn't look like best place to throw a big, fancy, glittery masked ball and invite all your friends.

He should have gotten that vibe from Milly, who didn't apparently didn't favour even the whole shaking-hands thing (instead embracing him upon their first meeting – as soon as her parents weren't looking, of course – probably so she could have a quick feel). However, whilst it turned out that she had been the one to talk her parents into it, it wasn't as if Lord and Lady Ashford were going to stand back and let her have all the fun. All three of them were clearly very well-versed at being hosts and seemed to be in the practice of putting specific rules and requirements in place for their guests in order to "heighten their enjoyment" or whatever.

That apparently included costumes.

Suzaku, of course, hadn't come armed with such necessities, so the fact that he was now traipsing along the hall after Milly dressed as a knight really had very little to do with him. He wasn't even sure he wanted to know where Milly had procured it from, given that it was a "traditional" knight's outfit only so far as that it was designed like one. It was, however, very gaudy, with jewels and gold tassels and a rich red cape that hung heavily from the shoulder-plates. He couldn't help but wince slightly every time he caught his reflection.

But "gaudy" was the look to achieve tonight. He didn't know much about the Ashfords, but he was inclined to believe that it wasn't so much that they favoured the finer things in life so much as they favoured all things of a slightly odd, over-the-top, even _burlesque_ nature. Perhaps it was perfectly understandable that a family who dedicated so much of their time to digging up the cellars of rotting old country estates would have – and share – somewhat peculiar tastes, but he couldn't help but feel that they had gone to a terrible amount of trouble for this strange party they were throwing.

Milly – now dressed in a voluminous Medieval-style dress of rich reds and violets, the corset tight and low-cut, her blonde hair braided and threaded with gems in the fashion of a European princess from the Middle Ages – had given him a tour of the ground and second floor, where the party was to be held, earlier in the evening, right before thrusting the knight outfit at him and leaving to go and get dressed herself. She and her parents had spent the better part of the day decking out several of the empty chambers entirely in one colour each: The first in blue, the second in green, the third in violet, the fourth in orange, the fifth in white and the sixth in silvers and greys. In each room, every drape, every ornament, every last item and article matched the colour scheme, with even the gas-lamps carefully covered with filters in their respective colours, giving a blue or green or purple glow. These chambers could be entered into from the one immediately next to it, creating the impression of walking through a rainbow.

He had to hand it to them for being original, but he wouldn't say he was particularly looking forward to the party; even if the customs of celebration were somewhat different here to how they were in Japan, it just wasn't really his thing. However, out of politeness he had put on the uncomfortable costume and accompanied Milly downstairs as the guests had begun to arrive, her hanging off his arm as though he was walking her down the aisle.

The guest-list seemed to be comprised mostly of Lord and Lady Ashford's friends, all of whom were got up gladly for the occasion, dressed in bright and brilliant costumes in the fashion of kings and princes, jesters and sorcerers, queens and exotic dancers; Milly's parents themselves had donned matching Egyptian-influenced outfits, flashing gold beneath the dull glare of the gas-lamps that were scattered around, illuminating the great hall in which they were receiving their guests.

Milly, however, ignored them, far more interested in greeting her own friends, who dutifully arrived in costumes not quite so grand as Milly's own, but extravagant enough for her not to complain that they hadn't put in the effort.

She introduced Suzaku (still clamped onto his arm) to each of her friends in turn: Shirley Fenette, also dressed as a princess, but rather in greens; Kallen Stadtfeld, who kept pulling at the high collar of her tight bodice as though she was highly uncomfortable wearing it; Rivalz Cardemonde, who had attended dressed as a chef – one who would certainly be tossed out of his own kitchen for being a fire hazard, what with this, that and the other dangling off him; Nina Einstein, who hadn't really bothered to dress up, but had worn something glittery enough so as to not incur Milly's wrath; and Gino Weinberg and a small, pale girl, Anya Alstreim, introduced as the ward of Gino's uncle, both dressed in matching court fool outfits.

Most of the guests had migrated towards the coloured rooms by this point, but Queen Milly and her Court stayed out in the hall, lounging near the large oak table laden with hors d'oeuvres and wine. Suzaku found himself engaged in conversation with both Shirley (who commented on how much she liked his outfit) and Kallen (who didn't comment on his outfit whatsoever) before Milly gave a sudden squeal and hitched up her dress, fleeing with both Shirley and Kallen (in addition to Nina) in tow into the blue room. Anya, immersed in a book, didn't even look up, but the three boys glanced around warily in case the thing that Milly had prompted the other girls to run from was something that they ought to know about.

A man was languidly approaching them; his hair was of a pale lilac and his suit an obnoxious, garish hue of gold. His smile was as lazy as his pace, and, when he reached them, he took a moment to push up his glasses before offering them any form of greeting.

"Please pay no heed to Miss Ashford's behaviour," he said at length, the tone of his voice very much mirroring his body language. "She took her rather hasty leave on account of _my_ presence."

"And so, pray, who might you be?" Gino asked stiffly.

"Me?" The man tilted his head as though considering the question very deeply. "I am Earl Lloyd Asplund."

Rivalz, who had been knocking back a glass of wine, suddenly choked on it, spitting half of it down his front. He coughed for a long moment before recovering enough to splutter;

"A-Asplund?!" He pointed accusingly at Lloyd, wiping at his mouth with his other arm. "You… you are Milly's fiancé!"

Lloyd smirked.

"The very man," he replied idly. "No doubt you will have noticed that she does not seem to be particularly taken with me."

Rivalz offered no reply, but he looked slightly put-out, giving Suzaku the impression that _he_ wasn't "particularly taken" with Lloyd Asplund either.

"So what brings you over to our corner of the entrance hall?" Gino asked languidly.

"This gentleman," Lloyd replied pointedly, snapping his fingers at Suzaku.

Suzaku blinked.

"Me, sir?" He couldn't help but be a little taken aback. "Forgive me, but I cannot fathom why I might have caught your interest. I am merely a guest of the Ashford family."

"That is precisely why!" Lloyd replied gleefully. "I have just been in conversation with Lord Ashford, who told me of the curious papers my lovely fiancée found in one of the libraries – these same papers being the whole purpose of your visit." He put his arms around Suzaku's shoulders and began to very subtly lead him away; only when they were more than a few paces from Gino, Rivalz and Anya did Lloyd turn back to the three of them and call, "I hope you will not mind my borrowing of your companion for a while. I shall return him to you as soon as I sense that he can put up with me no longer."

Rivalz still didn't say anything, glowering at Lloyd's back; Gino waved dolefully at Suzaku as though he expected to never see him again.

So Suzaku had no choice but to be escorted away by Lloyd, finding that they were migrating towards the staircase leading up the third floor.

"Uh… i-if I might inquire of you, Earl Asplund," Suzaku finally said, "where are we heading?"

"The papers are in your possession, are they not?"

"You… you desire to see them?"

"If it would not trouble you, sir. Lord Ashford has already given me permission to look at them."

"You are able to read Japanese?" Suzaku went on after a moment's pause as they began to ascend the wide stairs.

Lloyd shook his head.

"Not even slightly," he replied cheerfully. "I merely desire to see them. I possess an incurably curious nature, you see. I must implore you to indulge me."

Since Suzaku didn't appear to have much of a choice regarding the latter, so firmly was Lloyd's arm welded around the heavy shoulder-plates of his costume, he merely gave a weary nod and allowed himself to be more-or-less frog-marched to his chamber. On entering, he had to immediately go and light the gas-lamp, since night had fallen quickly, making the room dark but for the cold, chalky moonlight that ghosted in through the high, misty windows, splaying a diagonal grid of silver light across the floor. The room was cold, the fire having burned out whilst he had been downstairs; he shivered, actually quite glad of the heavy velvet cloak he was wearing as he wrapped it around his upper arms and chest.

Lloyd had skipped merrily over to the desk upon their entrance and was leaning against it at this point, happily running his gaze down each of the yellowed sheets one by one, turning them gently this way and that, every now and then bringing one up close for a better scope of inspection. Suzaku stood several feet from him, watching, vaguely curious as to why Lloyd had wanted to see the manuscript in the first place if he could make no sense of it. Hell, even _Suzaku_ found it very difficult to read.

"What a fascinating find," Lloyd eventually said, carefully putting the manuscript back down neatly on the desk's surface. He said nothing else on the matter, however, not even inquiring after an explanation of the gist of what the papers said; instead placing his hands on the desk behind him and tilting his head to look back at the ceiling for a long, silent moment.

Honestly, Suzaku didn't see what was so enthralling about the chandelier other than the fact that it had a rather elaborate petticoat of grey cobwebs hanging from it.

"You will have to forgive me," Lloyd went on finally. "As I said, I am perhaps the unfortunate owner of a curiosity too potent. It is entirely true that I can make no sense whatsoever of those papers, and yet I was compelled to see them for myself. I am a scientist, you see – which is something that I try my utmost not to make an excuse of, you may be sure."

"A scientist?" Suzaku repeated. "You are the first I have met, sir."

Lloyd finally looked back at him, smiling dryly.

"We are not so rare," he said, "but, admittedly, rather reclusive. By nature we are both consuming and consumed. Science is my only pleasure. I breathe, sleep and indeed _live_ Science. Such a love-affair is subject to the categorization by psychiatrists as "obsession" – or, a favourite terming of it of mine: Monomania."

"Mono...?" Suzaku was well aware of the fact that he seemed to simply be parroting everything Lloyd said right back at him, but he frowned at the sound of the word, not understanding it. It certainly wasn't English – or, at least, part of the everyday vocabulary of English that _he_ had learned.

"Ah, my apologies," Lloyd said graciously, probably not without a little deliberate flattery. "Your English is so impeccable that I quite forgot that you are not a native speaker. It is a coinage of the Greek words _monos_ and _mania_ – the former meaning 'one' and the latter referring to a type of consistent mood elevated to extreme levels. Somebody with monomania would be said to express interest only in one idea, practice or even _person_. It is, as I said, merely a fanciful word for "obsession"; but I find it a fitting one to apply to myself nonetheless. To be perfectly honest, I should rather be in my laboratory at this precise moment. However, a gentleman – which I suppose I am also – does not turn down so novel an invitation, particularly one from the family of his betrothed." He glanced about Suzaku's temporary chamber once more. "And I daresay that my time has not been entirely wasted. This is certainly one of the more interesting properties that the Ashfords have acquired in recent years."

Suzaku gave an absent nod in reply. He didn't have anything to say – he wasn't even sure that he had _understood_ half of what Lloyd had said. Still, he knew the feeling of wishing he was somewhere else other than here—

"Does anything strike you as somewhat odd about this house?" Lloyd suddenly asked, making Suzaku jump.

"...Odd?" Suzaku kicked himself mentally for merely repeating what Lloyd had said a _third_ time, but the scientist didn't appear to have even noticed. "I... I cannot say that I have. I have only been a guest here for two days."

He paused. Lloyd didn't say anything else – not even a word in the way of an explanation.

"Exactly... what do you mean by 'odd'?" Suzaku pressed finally. "You have... heard something about the house?"

"Hm?" Lloyd blinked, pushing up his glasses. "Oh, no, nothing like that. Nothing so _obvious_. It is simply that something about... well, perhaps the _aura_ of the building, shall we say?"

Suzaku couldn't help but shoot him a sudden cynical smile.

"You think that perhaps it is _haunted_?" he asked, not without the faintest touch of sarcasm.

Lloyd picked up on it immediately.

"Ah, a sceptic," he replied, smirking himself. "Well, perhaps you may be right. After all, I have no proof of anything – and in my obsession—I mean _profession_, of course, that is everything. Your word is only as good as your results. I could talk about vast metal machines in which soldiers would fight, giving the term 'war' an entirely new definition, but without such a machine to give credibility to my words, such a notion would be deemed merely fanciful." He finally took his weight off the desk, straightening his lean frame. "That, of course, is the polite way of putting it. It is far more likely that I would be thought of as _mad_."

Suzaku took a while to respond to that; and when he finally opened his mouth to reply, he was interrupted by a knock at the ajar door. Milly leaned in, the gems in her hair gleaming.

"Earl Asplund," she said, neither looking nor sounding too cheerful, "my father and one of his companions, Lord Jeremiah Gottwald, wish to speak with you. They are in the orange room."

"Of course." Lloyd started away across the room towards her; pausing briefly to glance back at Suzaku. "You will descend with us?"

"I... I will join you shortly," Suzaku replied, feeling that he needed a moment to himself to think about what Lloyd had said to him.

Lloyd nodded and, upon reaching Milly, offered her his arm. She hesitated, but after a moment offered him a faint smile and took it, allowing him to lead her away more gently than he had Suzaku.

"Ah, by the way," Lloyd suddenly said, looking back at Suzaku a second time. "I meant to say that I like your attire. I am reminded acutely of Sir Lancelot Du Lac – the bravest and best of King Arthur's Knights."

And then he was gone, Milly flouncing along at his side (she shot Suzaku a wink over her shoulder on Lloyd's approval of the knight costume).

Suzaku went to the desk himself, looking down at the papers of the manuscript that Milly had found. He had been expecting Lloyd to ask him what they said. In retrospect, he was rather glad that Lloyd hadn't, because to translate it from very old Japanese to modern Japanese to English would be very difficult, particularly since he had to admit that he could make very little sense of it himself.

However... the way it was written, the kinds of things it described... It seemed to be a sort of journal, or... _diary_.

He also got the distinct impression that it had been written by a woman – but he hadn't translated enough of it to be entirely sure. There had been no real indicators of the author's gender. It was simply an inkling that he had.

...Much like _Lloyd's_ inkling that there was something strange about this house. Suzaku couldn't say he had particularly noticed – aside from the has-been grandeur of the place, which was something a little like a ghost itself – but now that he really thought about it—

No. He shook his head fiercely. It wouldn't do to start thinking like that. He'd jump at every tiny noise and be unable to sleep due to the soft rustling of his curtains from the draft. It would be no good for Lloyd to have put such silly thoughts into his head. There was nothing wrong with the house – it was simply old and falling-apart.

It had charm.

He pulled himself together and left the room, going back downstairs. The entrance hall was now completely empty, with the sounds of music and chatter coming from the string of brightly-coloured rooms; he crossed the silent hall, making towards the first room, the one draped and lit all in blue. He took a deep breath at the threshold and entered, the sensation not unlike diving into a deep body of water, so overpowering was the assault of azure upon his senses. The room was crowded with people, their gaudy costumes winking several shades of sapphire as they laughed and talked and danced. He glanced about for Milly or Gino or Shirley or Rivalz or Kallen, or even Lord or Lady Ashford, hell, even _Lloyd_, but he was jostled further and further into the heart of the crowd, and the sensation of having everything in his vision rendered in vivid blue overwhelmed him, making him feel slightly sick, and at once he abandoned all designs of finding someone that he might latch himself onto to use as an anchor for the rest of the evening and turned all his thoughts towards escaping from the blue room.

Everything looked the same, however, all drenched in the same delphinium glow; and when he eventually found the door, it became apparent that it wasn't the one he'd been looking for. Instead of breaking free out into the entrance hall again, he found himself stumbling into the green room. The writhing mass of bodies, all bedecked in seemingly-emeralds, kept him moving forwards, carrying him as though he was nothing but a piece of driftwood caught in the tide; so that when he managed to turn finally, desperately seeking the door back to the blue room, he found that it had vanished utterly from his sight.

So he turned back once more and decided that the only way out was at the _other_ side of the string of rainbow baubles that was the Ashford's party venue; and thus his escape became more calculated. He stopped looking for a friendly face and focused only on getting through each of the rooms as quickly as possible, skirting around the edges of the violet, orange and white rooms, finding that the silver room was less crowded, and then, finally—

He found himself in a seventh chamber.

He stopped, glancing around in bewilderment. This room was completely empty – of people, at least. He found this strange, for it was clearly another of the decorated rooms to be used by the party guests during their revel. It was draped in black velvet, the richness of the material obvious by way of the dull sheen that came off every fold and curve of it. The chandelier gleamed with black glass and even the candles, straight and unlit, were of this same jet black. Against the western wall was a singular ornamental piece, however, the like of which was not present in any of the other rooms: A huge grandfather clock, all about it black but for the high, arching pane of glass, through which the pendulum was visible in its hypnotic, scythe-like motion, each _tick-tock_ a heavy two-tone tune. However, the most peculiar thing about this room was that it, unlike the other six coloured chambers, did not have a light-scheme to match the decor – instead the glass filters on the lamps set about the place were crimson, giving an altogether rather ghastly countenance to this seventh chamber, as of the sombre combination of mottled blood and funeral shroud.

Drawing his cloak around him once more, Suzaku ventured further still into the room despite being repelled by it in an altogether singular sense; a strange but strong sense of terror gripped at him, winding fingers around his lungs to shorten his breaths. There was something appalling about this room, something that suddenly seemed to make it completely understandable and, indeed, _sensible_ that no-one but he – dressed as the bravest of Arthur's knights – should have ventured into its recesses. However, no matter the feeling that made him want to turn on his heel and flee (a notion far more pronounced than even that which he had felt in the other coloured rooms), he couldn't help but be drawn further and further into this particular chamber; enticed by the clock, by its regular back-and-forth serenade, so rhythmic, almost like...

_...a heartbeat_.

The sound of it consumed him. He could hear nothing else, not even his own thoughts, pulled towards the grand clock as though in a trance. He stopped barely a foot from it, flinging his gaze up towards the face, pale and round like the moon – yet flecked with the bloody promise of the gas-lamps that cast out their light from North, South, East and West.

Simultaneous sunrises from every corner of this inverted Earth.

As his jade eyes settled on the face, it became apparent to him that they were mere moments from midnight, the intricately-wrought minute hand on the very brink of making a perfect union with its brother – they were like the gnarled branches of some long-dead tree, and the final tiny movement at the final tiny moment of the day lined them up with one another completely so that they melded into one.

And then the chimes began.

He didn't know if he had ever heard such a terrible sound. It couldn't be only his extreme proximity to the clock, for it was not merely sheer volume that made him scrabble back from the vast timepiece in horror as it began to bemoan the twelfth, final and first hour. Every strike upon the iron bell within the belly of the clock shuddered throughout his entire body; he felt each of them resonate within his skull louder still than even the original incessant heartbeat that had drawn him so close in the first place. It was as though these were the death-throes of some terrible beast, some horror too unholy to even begin to imagine, and he put his hands over his ears, clawing at his scalp as he backed away in terror as though trying to physically pry out the echoes of the clock's wails that were being imprinted on his mind even now.

Upon the eleventh chime he fancied that perhaps he saw some great crimson shape manifest itself on the wall behind the grandfather clock – a bloody shape, somewhat like a bird, with great outstretched wings—

Perhaps merely a trick of the distorted gore-coloured light, but he shut his eyes to the spectacle and stumbled back out of the room, turning his back on the clock, as the twelfth chime rang out. He moved blindly, desperately, his hands still at his skull, until he ran into someone.

"Suzaku!"

That same someone grasped him by his upper arms and he opened his eyes with a gasp, panting in fright as he found himself looking at Gino. Anya and Rivalz were close behind the blonde boy, Rivalz tilting his head concernedly.

"Gracious, man, you look positively unwell," Gino went on, shaking Suzaku a bit. "Where have you been, pray tell?"

"I... I was just..." Suzaku took a breath, calming down his erratic breathing pattern, and squirmed out of Gino's grip. "Excuse me, gentlemen. I can stay here no longer."

He winnowed between Rivalz and Anya, not daring to look behind him at either those who had come to find him or the black-and-red room; he darted away across the entrance hall, having emerged at the other side of it to the staircase, hoping that he would not be pursued. It wasn't in his nature to flee from things, but there was something about that room, about that clock, about the whole thing...

He just wanted to lock himself in his room and tear off this outfit and pull himself together.

He started up the staircase, red velvet cloak swaying after him, tracing every motion that he made; his gaze was cast downwards, looking at the dull, patchy carpet that had once been a deep shade of ruby. However, about halfway up towards the first floor landing, something made him look up.

And stop.

He had heard the distinct sound of a fluttering of feathers and sharply raised his gaze to seek the source; and was brought to a halt by the sight suddenly before him. Upon the windowsill of the vast pane upon the landing (directly in the centre of the fork leading upwards off to the East and West wings, respectively) sat a boy.

Suzaku had never seen him before. He must be one of Lord and Lady Ashford's guests, for Milly had made sure to introduce Suzaku to any friend of hers. However, it was notable that he was not dressed in gaudy golds and greens, wore neither a bell-adorned jester's cap nor a king's crown. He appeared to be the one guest who had completely shirked the dress code for the evening, for he was entirely in black but for the elaborate, old-fashioned cravat, which was several layers of intricate white lace, spilling like a waterfall down over his chest. His hair, too, was black, fine and straight across his pale forehead and cheeks; his features, like his build, were sharp and pretty, almost feminine, and his eyes were such a vivid shade of violet that Suzaku could see the colour all the way from where he was standing.

He was sprawled in a lazy, comfortable sitting position, taking up quite a lot of the windowsill with the languid arrangement of his long legs, one of his arms resting on his bent knee; and upon this arm, perched like a falcon or a hawk, was a large, glossy raven.

The boy was not interested in the bird, however; rather, he was looking right at Suzaku, regarding him curiously.

Suzaku met his gaze, but he couldn't speak. Both his voice and his carefully-sculpted English vocabulary had fled him. He was both fascinated and unnerved by this boy's quiet but deliberate presence. Why was he just sitting there? Why did he have a _raven_ of all things perched on his cuff?

He opened his mouth, determined to speak in damned _Japanese_ if only his voice would work—

"Suzaku!"

Milly's voice startled him. He whirled on the staircase, finding the Ashford's daughter tottering across the hall towards the foot of the staircase, her dress hitched up.

"You are retiring already?" she asked upon stopping, calling up to him.

Suzaku hesitated, then gave an exhausted nod; thinking that it was probably best not to go into details about how one of the rooms she and her parents had done up for the party had scared him.

"I hope you will not think me rude," he replied, finding that he could speak easier now that he had his back to the boy on the windowsill. "I appreciate your hospitality, and indeed for including me in your festivities when I am but a guest, but I am very tired." He bowed to her from his higher position, deliberately taking the edge of the cloak and offering her a gesture in the fashion of a true knight. "Goodnight, Miss Ashford."

"Milly," Milly corrected, but she laughed.

"Milly," Suzaku repeated obediently, straightening.

"That is far more acceptable," Milly replied, curtseying to him in an extravagant manner. "Goodnight, good knight."

It was only as she left, heading back towards the blue room, that he observed that not only had she neither greeted nor wished the boy behind him goodnight – she also hadn't even looked remotely in his direction. Had the position that Suzaku had been standing in blocked him from her view...?

Frowning, Suzaku turned back towards the windowsill—

And found that the boy was gone.

* * *

It was no good.

He suspected that it had been Lloyd Asplund who had put the ideas into his head, but while he had never considered himself to be the owner of a particularly vivid or overactive imagination, it was definitely a fear without substance that preyed upon his senses now.

Upon preparing for bed, his heart had jumped at every tiny noise, at every slight movement of the shadows on the floor caused by the dying embers of the fire; more than once he had whipped around towards either the window or the door with a faint gasp, only to find that it was nothing whatsoever that intruded on him.

In the pumpkin-coloured glow of the fading fire and the dull gold from the single gas-lamp at his bedside, and having so freshly come from a horror unlike any that he had ever known before courtesy of the seventh chamber, he fancied that this room struck within him terrors that he had paid no consideration to before now. Suddenly the old, faded, peeling floral wallpaper, the tarnished, neglected chandelier and the thin, ragged violet velvet curtains seemed to conjure up notions of disgruntled spirits, unsettled by the sudden presence of the living.

There _was_ something odd about this house—

_No_. In bed by this point, the room lit only by the final faint embers of the fire, the hangings around the huge, sunken bed half-drawn, Suzaku pulled the sheets over his head and seethed at himself to stop. It was just because of what Lloyd had said, and that stupid final room – both of which there was no reason to be afraid of. In retrospect, though he still felt a chill crawl down his spine whenever he recalled the sound of that clock, he scorned himself for having been so frightened by a few pieces of black velvet, a red lamp filter and a timepiece arranged in more-or-less that order.

He turned his thoughts to the boy instead, wondering where and why he had vanished; and it was perhaps _still_ on him that his thoughts lingered when he finally fell asleep.

—

He awoke at the contact.

He bolted half-upright with a gasp, heart hammering as had the clock's. He felt the hand gently on his face draw back, and at once his own hand flew out instinctively towards the gas-lamp at his beside, feeling the fear swell in his chest like a balloon as he fumbled and flicked the light on.

The lamp dutifully illuminated the area directly around the bed and Suzaku found himself looking directly at the boy from the windowsill. He was missing his raven, but as before, he was far more interested in Suzaku anyway; he was sitting on the edge of the mattress, his upper body twisted towards Suzaku, presumably so that he was in a better position to give the sleeping boy the thorough examination he appeared to have invested himself in. He clearly hadn't intended to wake his object of interest – on sitting up properly, Suzaku observed that his shirt was half-unbuttoned.

Not only did words fail him – English hiding behind Japanese hiding behind having absolutely _no_ idea what to say in regard to this – but so did action. Suzaku simply stared right back at him, stunned, waiting for the boy to say something that sounded like an apology or an excuse or even... even just "_Hello_", or something...

He didn't. He didn't make a sound. All he did was suddenly – but slowly – lean in towards Suzaku, keeping his amethyst eyes locked with the Japanese boy's jade the entire time. Suzaku barely dared to breathe, not sure what to do; even if he was to consider _resisting_, he had no idea what he should do—

The boy paused, mere centimetres from Suzaku's face, as though gauging the mingled fear and bewilderment in his eyes; before he let his _own_ eyes slide closed and tilted his head a little, pushing forwards the final inch or so to press his lips to Suzaku's.

Suzaku froze up, his mind panicking but his body not responding to any of the orders he was sending to it. He thought that he wanted to shove the boy off but he couldn't even raise his hands, his confusion at the whole situation short-circuiting any attempt on his part to restore some form of normalcy to the fact that he had been awoken by some boy who hadn't said even a single _word_ to him more or less molesting him.

The boy seemed perfectly aware that Suzaku's passiveness was a form of resistance, for he strengthened his efforts to get a reaction; a swipe of tongue across Suzaku's bottom lip, the faintest hint of teeth, and he was in, putting his hands on Suzaku's chest and all but clambering on top of him.

Suzaku had opened his mouth more out of shock than anything else, and now found himself more or less pinned down by this boy; truthfully, _he_ was bigger and stronger. The boy had a very slender frame and he wasn't heavy. Suzaku wasn't trapped by any physical means – not really.

It was more that his suddenly-acquired bed-mate appeared to have extremely demanding behaviour.

_That_, and perhaps an odd sense of humour; for the moment Suzaku gave in to him and started to reciprocate the kiss, he broke it and pulled back, smiling as though amused.

Had... had it just been a test? Was it merely a prank? Did this boy do the rounds of the rooms and throw himself upon whoever he found, seeing who paid back his forceful advances in kind?

Suzaku felt the heat flare in his face, suddenly mortified that his first instinct hadn't been to simply kick the boy off the bed (despite that fact that he still hadn't done exactly that); however, it became apparent that his night-time visitor _was_ interested in him even though the joke was over, going back to pawing at him curiously. With Suzaku almost lying down, he appeared to find it easier to get at him, deftly undoing each of the remaining buttons of the shirt that the Japanese boy had slept in. Suzaku merely propped himself up on his elbows and watched him do it, feeling almost as though he was observing this from outside the situation, as something of a voyeuristic third party who had nothing to do with any of it. He felt, as before, as though he was in some kind of trance, compelled to simply lie there and be still and quiet. Perhaps it was _because_ he had never seen this boy in his entire life before, or _because_ this same boy still hadn't so much as opened his mouth (with the intention of actually _speaking_ to him, at least), or even just because of his bizarre forcefulness, the way he had about him that seemed to demand subordination from whoever he deemed worthy of his attention...

But Suzaku, as before, couldn't bring himself to push him away.

It wasn't merely that, however. His uninvited companion had torn his eyes away from Suzaku's and let them slide lower as he had opened the Japanese boy's shirt, bearing his chest; his expression had changed from that satisfied smirk to something coloured rather like...

..._curiosity_.

Suzaku couldn't help but frown at him as he watched the boy run his pale, slender hands over his chest, fingertips exploring every line and dip; he paused every now and then to better give his attention to something significant like Suzaku's breastbone or his nipples or his heart thudding rhythmically beneath his ribcage. He moved to his throat, feeling the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed, pressing two cool fingertips to his jugular. Suzaku barely moved throughout the entirety of the examination, rather too transfixed by the other boy's violet eyes. The expression in them... it wasn't even curiosity anymore. He seemed to be utterly enchanted by Suzaku, at length bringing his hands back to his face and his eyes back to his and smiling.

Suzaku smiled weakly back at him, having come to the conclusion that the boy had taken rather a liking to him (although whether that was a good thing or not was another matter entirely).

The boy bent over him and kissed him once more, this time more forcefully; Suzaku let him have his way immediately this time, feeling that he couldn't refuse him after a smile like that. He felt the crisp layers of lace – the cravat – against his naked chest and the thin spidery fingers tangle into his hair—

And then the kiss shattered and the boy leaned down beside his ear and breathed something into it.

"_Suzaku_."

Suzaku froze once more. The boy pushed upwards again, leaning over him, smiling still. Suzaku merely met his gaze speechlessly – so not only _could_ he talk, he also knew Suzaku's _name_...?

The boy shifted, moving downwards again – grasping the sheets as he did so. He peeled them back very carefully, exerting upon them only the same delicacy of touch that Suzaku employed when handling the manuscript – his whole reason for being here. Suzaku was puzzled by his care when his manner was so forward, but _he_ himself was still rather in shock; which was probably why he didn't really react when the boy pushed the sheets completely aside and planted his hands rather firmly on Suzaku's thighs.

Suzaku didn't move so much as a muscle, merely gazing down at him, barely blinking. The boy glanced up, his violet eyes meeting Suzaku's, presumably attempting to gauge his reaction – for even as he held the Japanese boy's gaze, he suddenly dug his thin fingers harder into the flesh, managing to make him wince. Still with his eyes on him, still experimenting, this strange, silent boy loosened his fingers again and ran his hands firmly up Suzaku's thighs and onto his shorts. Stunned though he was, Suzaku could remain stoic no longer – he inhaled sharply, his hips somewhat arching unwillingly against those slender, curious hands as they ghosted between his legs.

The boy blinked; and then a truly wicked smile stole across his pretty face. Breathing out raggedly, Suzaku sank back to the mattress, looking up at him in bewilderment. The boy – a guest of a guest – was smirking, clearly pleased with that result.

Still, all this time later, Suzaku's voice failed him. He wanted to grab hold of this weird waif who had flitted into his room like a bat and ask him all sorts of questions, whats and whys and whos – what the hell did he think he was doing, why the hell was he doing it, who the hell _was_ he, anyway?! He wanted a name, he wanted to know why the nameless boy seemed to know _his_ name, he wanted to know—

But he couldn't speak – almost as though his voice had been torn out of his throat with the first of his beautiful guest's touches there – even when those bony fingers suddenly hooked beneath the waistband of his underwear and tugged, easing them down just enough. It almost felt as if – as before, in the black and crimson chamber – he was in some kind of trance, compelled to simply obey and fulfil whatever it was that this lovely yet undeniably-odd boy wanted from him. His confidence, his sureness, seemed to command such a reaction.

So he didn't voice a single variation of "What...?" when the boy descended upon him, enclosing him in a wet heat that he couldn't describe: Or perhaps _entombing_ him, for Suzaku felt himself slide sharply out of any and all semblance of reality, that sensation becoming the original and only walls of his world, a world in which it was suddenly so difficult to breathe that he felt he might die. It was all he could do to be polite enough to gasp and groan in almost the same breath to show his gratitude, his spine twisting and his hips lifting sharply again as he felt himself get devoured. He felt the boy grasp at his thighs again, most likely to keep them still, but _he_ was stronger, able to thrash around with little difficulty, his hands in his own hair. It was not so much despair he felt – far from it, naturally – but, truly, he felt as though he was certainly going _mad_. The boy had settled himself into a perfected rhythm, not too slow, not too fast, simply _perfect_ as far as timing went, never once faltering no matter how Suzaku jostled him with his knees or bucked his hips; updown, teethtongue, ticktock—

Yes, he could hear it. The clock. He was certain that it existed solely within his head, but he could hear it pounding against his skull, the incessant beating of its heart, that damned clock; making a soundtrack of itself, moulding itself to the rhythm of the boy, the beating of blood within Suzaku's own tightly-strung body, the pulsing the resonated through him with the feeling of a hot key having been plunged somewhere deep in him and winding him tighter and tighter and tighter; ticktocktictockticktock—

He bolted upright when he came, giving something almost like a shriek; panting in a way that he hadn't for a long time, wide-eyed, the sweat clinging his body making him shiver. The boy raised himself to Suzaku's level, kneeling back; he seemed pleased with himself, but Suzaku only took a moment longer to gather himself together as best he could before finally disregarding the rust congealing on his voice:

"You name," he hissed, still getting his breath back. "Tell me your name."

The boy licked at his lips, running one of his thin fingers over the bottom one afterwards as though to be sure that he hadn't missed anything, and then smiled again and leaned forwards to whisper in Suzaku's ear, apparently finally happy to indulge:

"Nevermore," he breathed.

His voice – deep, ornate, wrapped around the second of the only two words that Suzaku heard him say – made the Japanese boy shiver, although he wasn't sure if it was in delight, desire or purely horror. He closed his eyes (for they were suddenly heavy) as he felt the boy – Nevermore, if that really _was_ his name – breathing on his jugular. A strange, calm relief had washed through him in the aftermath of his release, and now he no longer felt compelled to watch the boy's every move.

"_Nevermore_," he repeated softly.

He received no answer. His jade eyes flickered open again, not without a little difficulty—

He was alone. The boy, as before, was completely gone. Blinking several times, utterly thrown, Suzaku glanced around wildly for any kind of trace of him—

But no. He had truly vanished.

His own heart-rate beginning to pick up, remembering – as, at night and whilst alone, humans often will – Lloyd's idle musings about the oddities of the house, about ghosts and spirits, Suzaku pulled his shorts back up and scrambled from the bed, beginning to wonder if the whole thing...

...had been some crazy dream of his; some wild sexual fantasy, something merely imagined. It was true that his shorts had been tangled around his knees, but that didn't truly explain anything.

But here he turned towards the bed and saw upon the creased white sheets a single black, gleaming feather. He hesitated at first to touch it, but at length reached for it, closing his hand around it, feeling its softness yield to his strong fingers.

It was real.

Still grasping the raven feather, Suzaku went to the window, threw back the purple curtains and wrenched up the shutters, leaning out as far as he could. He had no idea what he'd been expecting to find, but he of course saw nothing but the gnarled gardens surrounding the old mansion, shrouded by the cloak of night.

Darkness there, and nothing more.

* * *

_Siiiiigh_... Honestly, there is (or will be) more of a horror element later on, so that was primarily why I wanted to get the whole thing done and post it for Halloween, but it wasn't to be... I just hope you enjoyed what I have so far! I will get the second half done and posted ASAP!

Works of Poe referenced in this half: _The Masque of the Red Death_ (this where the party that takes place in the seven coloured rooms comes from), _The Telltale Heart_, _The Raven_ and_ The Fall of the House of Usher._

One thing I feel inclined to point out regarding my British spelling: 'Sceptic'. That is how _we_ spell it. Not 'skeptic'. Please don't call me on that.

Well, I hope you enjoyed it, as I said! I admit to now having a Victorian-set AU in all three of the fandoms I am/have been active in (_Teen Titans_, _Death Note_, and now _Code Geass_), but, you know, I figured that I'd go for something a little different for my Halloween special. I mean, it would have been waaaaaaaaaaay too easy to write a _Code Geass_ Halloween fic where Milly and the Student Council have a Halloween costume party (oh, wait, totally did that) and Suzaku gets hung up about something or other and starts to leave only to find Lelouch (looking hawt) blocking his path (oh, wait, totally did that) and then... I dunno, they sneak off together and have a very happy Halloween and whatnot (oh, wait, totally did that).

If you enjoyed the _Code Geass_ element of this, check out the newest chapter of _The Ghost in the Machine_, also updated today! If you enjoyed the Victorian element of this, check out _Rawhead and Bloody Bones_ – a brand new _Sweeney Todd_ fic by myself and AutumnDynasty – also updated today! [End shameless plug]

Hope you all have a wonderful Halloween, and please come back for the second half!

RobinRocks xXx


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